The emp_er_our tryst on hys men, And þ_a_t h_a_þ bygyled hym; Forsothe hyt most nedez be so, For þey beþ cursed þat well_e_ hyt do, 452 _Maledict_us_ Such_e_ all_e_ myght comeþ of god; q_ui_ To tryst on hym, y hold hyt good. _con_fid_e_t in Lucye haþ pyght his pauelou_n_ ho_m_i_n_e._ And sprad wyþ pryde his gu_n_fanou_n_; 456 His claryou_n_s blastes full_e_ grete blywe, Archeris schot(:) Men ouer-thrywe; The battle Bowes, arwes, & arblastere begins. Schot sore alle y-vere; 460 Quarels, arwes, þey fly smerte; Þe fyched Men þruȝ heed & herte; Axes, sperys, and gysarmes gret, Clefte Many a prowt Ma_n_nes heed: 464 Hors & steedes gan to grent, And deyde wyþ strok_is_ þ_a_t þey hente; Many a man þ_er_e lost hys lyf, [Fol. 45_b_.] Many on was wedyw þ_a_t was wyff; 468 Men are wetshod Þere men were wetschoede with brains and All_e_ of Brayn & of blode; blood. Gret rywth_e_ hyt was to seyn Þe feltes full_e_ of men y-scleyn; 472 Lucius is Lucy þe Emp_er_our also was dede; slain, But ho hym sclowh, y can nat rede; He, for all_e_ hys grete Renou_n_, [Arthur Wins, and Buries the Dead.]